


One (Your Name)

by Ringshadow



Series: Studio Killers [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coulson the Killer, M/M, Ops gone wrong, SHIELD Assassins, safehouse sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:17:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1545599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ringshadow/pseuds/Ringshadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's settling into SHIELD just fine, but he has a lot of unanswered questions about the man that recruited him. Like how to get him naked, for starters.</p><p>I wanna know your name<br/>You just kill me, could you at least do that?<br/>I wanna know your name<br/>Or better yet, stand there<br/>Just do that</p>
            </blockquote>





	One (Your Name)

Two months with SHIELD, and Clint Barton had discovered new levels of frustration.

  
  
Part of him thinks this really figures, but goddamn if it didn't seem like the worst kind of bait and switch. He had been recruited by Phil Coulson alias Kingfisher and that had been tantalizing enough! He felt like this man, this Suit with fucked up eyes and a smile like cracks in a mask, understood him. The idea of working with him was interesting enough but they had met twice and fucked twice and the second time had felt like some kind of branding. It had left him with bruises and a smile and feeling somehow claimed.

  
  
Clint likes to think he's no fool, but he sure felt like one when Coulson's work demeanor made itself known, nearly the moment they walked out of the warehouse he had holed up in.

  
  
Coulson at work was cool, calm, and laced so tight it was a wonder he could breathe. He was by the book, to the letter but so competent and steady handed Clint almost forgave it. Coulson had led him through the initial entry process with SHIELD, given him clear direction on what paperwork was necessary, and never surprised him with evaluations or tests. As an independent contractor coming in, a lot of training was waived but he had to prove his skills in simulations and training fields.

  
  
It was fast paced, long hours, but it was structure, protection, family. He had his own space, yeah a ten by ten room that felt like a dorm but it was private and never threatened. He was allowed to eat whenever he was hungry, which was a lot given his metabolism. They never kicked him off the range; in fact Coulson got his badge adjusted to let him into the _good_ smart programed shooting range.

  
  
But fuck, Clint was bored.

  
  
Maybe he had read the situation wrong. It had certainly seemed like Coulson at least wanted his body. The idea that the older man had fucked him into submission as a recruitment objective was strange.

  
  
But gods damn it all he'd had fantasies about working with Kingfisher, this hitman of myth and legend, and the ops being followed by hot sex.

  
  
Two months of working with Coulson, and Clint had never seen "Kingfisher." And he was almost willing to kill someone in front of him just to see if it would make the fucked up black mirrors appear in Phil's eyes.

  
  
So now he's escalated to contemplating murder to bait a famous hitman.

  
  
Go Clint. Spectacular life choices as usual.

  
  
They work together a lot. Apparently there's an invisible tattoo on his fuckin’ forehead that reads "Property of Agent Coulson" because no one else gives him any more shit than he deserves (which is still a lot). So of course his first real Op is with Phil in command. They had flown into a local friendly AFB and were driving from there, and goddamn if Coulson isn’t a lead foot. He drives like a bat out of hell but Clint trusts him, and just puts his seat down and drapes one forearm over his eyes.

  
  
His eyes might be his best asset, especially considering his hearing aids, but the ones SHIELD gave him are amazing and he stayed quiet, listening to Coulson drive. He has the steadiest breathing Clint's ever heard.

  
  
"What are you planning?"

  
  
He almost startled, but didn’t move his arm. "What?"

  
  
"You're never this quiet unless you're up to something." Phil hummed, eyes on the road.

  
  
That made him lift the arm enough to peer at Phil with one eye. "Fuck you, sir."

  
  
"Am I wrong?"

  
  
"Yes. I'm a quiet sleeper."

  
  
That actually got a huff of laughter from Coulson. "You snore."

  
  
"I do not." He's appalled.

  
  
"Only when you feel safe."

  
  
That drew him up short for a moment, dropping his arm and staring at Phil. "Are you naturally creepy or what?"

  
  
"Merely observant." Phil hummed. "The room doors aren’t especially soundproof and I tend to prowl hallways when I can't sleep. Your room was silent the first few weeks then you settled and started to snore."

  
  
No more combat readiness while resting. Shit.

  
  
"Can I ask you something?"

  
  
"You just did." He smirked when Clint flipped him off. "You may but I do not guarantee an answer."

  
  
"Fair enough. How'd you get your name?"

  
  
"Well, my parents decided to name me after my uncle. So I spent my school years learning to fight dirty because people thought 'Prince' would be a funny nickname."

  
  
"Wiseass. You know what I mean."

  
  
He was quiet, for a few moments, fingers tapping on the steering wheel in a rare fidget. "You've noticed I don't discuss it at work, I'm certain."

  
  
"Yeah. Security clearance issue?"

  
  
"Yes. I shouldn't discuss it with you either but you already know."

  
  
"I keep looking for that side of you." Clint admitted, swallowing once and knowing he's probably crossing a line or several. "I mean you used it to recruit me then it just... went away."

  
  
"I keep that side of me buried deep." Phil said, glancing sideways at him. "You like that side of me?"

  
  
"You seem surprised."

  
  
"I am." He put his eyes back on the road. "My handler."

  
  
"What?"

  
  
"My handler gave me the call sign Kingfisher." He said it patiently. "And you'll see that side of me eventually. I’m high enough rank I rarely enter the field proper anymore."

  
  
Clint considered as he stretched, lacing his arms behind his head. "Ain't that a shame."

  
  
The car was quiet for a bit, then Clint's low snore started, and Phil smiled.

 

* * *

  
  
Four months after Clint joined SHIELD, he saw that other side of Coulson.

  
  
They were on an Op together and it had gone bad, so they were both tied to chairs, getting what Phil had sourly called the usual treatment. Beaten, torture threats, intel demands. Clint was no stranger to pain, really as long as his left arm wasn’t broken he couldn’t care less, but they were focusing on Phil because he was older and therefore in charge by the logic of their captors.

  
  
Phil reacted to the pain so dynamically that Clint demanded they beat the shit out of him instead. And while they laughed Phil looked right at him and smiled, a tiny quirk around his mouth and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, and Clint understood.

  
  
The next hour was the most masterful reverse interrogation Clint had ever had the pleasure of seeing. He still played his role such that it was but goddamn could Phil fake it, working himself into a beautiful disaster while never giving anything away. Yet each word he said drew more out of the enemy. No wonder he's a damn senior agent, Clint thought, this was acting that was Oscar worthy.

  
  
Then the enemy changed tactics and threatened Clint. Fine, he's a big boy and these guys aren’t pulling out their fingernails or getting out hot pokers (yet) but something moves behind Phil's eyes and tied to a chair or not, there was a visible shift as the previous tight lacing inside of Coulson broke.

  
  
The enemy didn’t notice the change of course and laughed when Phil tipped his head slightly to stare at the man from under his brows. "Oh you didn’t like that." The man taunted, and moved, grabbing Clint's hair and yanking his head back. "Is the pretty boy your little whore?"

  
  
Clint spat at him. "I wish. I could do with a promotion." That earned him a backhand slap and he was laughing even as he spat out blood, bit his cheek, goddammit.

  
  
Phil sighed and looked incredibly bored, but when the interrogator came closer one of Phil's feet neatly got out of the ropes and pounded into his knee. Phil stood as the man started to fall, twisting with a grunt and Clint winced when he saw Phil's shoulder dislocate. It was enough to get his hands free and he brought the chair around, actually smashing it into kindling over the man's skull before he popped his shoulder back in and stepped over to get Clint loose.

  
  
"That was some goddamn masterful acting sir."

  
  
"Good, be sure to write me up a good theatrical review." Phil deadpanned, giving him a hand up. "Let's go misbehave."

  
  
Misbehaving apparently was leaving a trail of bodies on the way to the exit. They located Clint's bow and arrows along the way, and Phil's guns but he stuck to close combat and knives. Clint had seen Phil fight but not like this. He was ruthless, but light on his feet, almost sensuous. Clint hung back enough to use his bow and make sure no one just shot them from across the room.

  
  
At one point, Phil's knife got kicked out of his hand so he dodged the next blow, ducked low and tore one of Clint's arrows free from a corpse before coming back up, shoving that arrow into the eye socket of the enemy. The shaft broke, and Phil apologized over his shoulder while Clint stared and tried to shove down his arousal.

  
  
Yeah it's a fucked up thing to get turned on by, but he doesn't care, not when Phil is disheveled and broken-smiling and has blood splattering up his arms.

  
  
"Not, not a problem." Clint stammered out. He's pulling arrows out of bodies when he can so one arrow broken isn’t a big deal and is entirely worth what he just saw.

  
  
Phil just nodded, pausing at a corner. "I hate this obsessive hardon for underground installations. They aren’t that much harder to destroy." He grumbled it, looking around the corner then walking to a stairwell door.

  
  
"At least they mark their stairwells. Fuckin polite of'em sir."

  
  
"Fire safety." Phil tutted, opening the door and standing aside as a shitstorm of automatic fire poured out. "Hm."

  
  
Clint cackled because Phil just looked so unimpressed as he looked at the mangled wall opposite the doorway. "I got this."

  
  
"Leave the stairwell intact enough to climb."

  
  
One net arrow later (it was on a cable so they'd both yanked and the enemy came falling down the stairs), they were jogging upwards, one stray enemy getting his throat cut nearly in passing by Phil. There were more enemy but instead of heading out the front door, Phil dipped into his own specialized gear and blew a hole in an outer wall, chucking knockout gas behind them.

  
  
"What's the plan from here sir?" Clint asked. It was pre-dawn in the desert, and extraction hadn’t counted on their capture.

  
  
"I'm going to hotwire a truck and you're covering my ass."

  
  
In the end, they managed not to get recaptured and found a jeep with the keys in the ignition. Clint had to shoot out some tires on chasing vehicles but five miles later they were clear. Phil drove them on a complicated path into a nearby town, ditched the jeep, and led them on foot the rest of the way to the safe house.

  
  
They had just come in the door, Phil locking it behind them, and Clint was dropping his mostly empty quiver aside when he was grabbed and shoved to the wall, Phil’s hands tight on his vest as he licked into Clint’s mouth. He couldn’t do much but moan and try to drag Phil in closer because finally, finally he was getting to do this again. Which was only confirmed when Phil cut it off and pulled away, and that expression, mild with a side of _fucked up_ was exactly what Clint remembered from the club.

 

“Haven’t seen you in a while.” Clint teased. “Where have you been?”

 

“Around.” Phil smiled though, and didn’t bother asking if Clint was down for this before kissing him again.

 

Which is good because Clint is so down it isn’t even funny. He’s managed to get laid a few times since joining SHIELD and while it had been good, he fantasied about Phil when he was in the shower. So he’s greedy with the kiss, and with his roaming hands, sliding them down to grab Phil’s ass through the ruined suit pants. Phil responded by rolling his hips into Clint’s, already obviously hard, and he broke the kiss to look at him. “I gotta ask, you do find me hot right? This isn’t because you’ve got a violence fetish?”

 

Something shifted in Phil’s expression. “Do we need to discuss that?”

 

“We can after but I want to because I want your dick in me even if there’s not an op beforehand.”

 

Phil snorted and was about to reply when the communication setup he’d put on the table before the job started chirping. He frowned at it then gave Clint a look somehow blaming him for the radio ringing. Clint stared back, because like he’d cockblock himself, so Phil stepped back and walked to the table, sitting heavily and slipping the headset on, rattling off a code then listening.

 

“I’m going to shower.” Clint decided, and Phil mutely nodded, so he slipped away. He grabbed at his gearbag for clean pants, and ended up grabbing lube, too.

 

The hot water stripped away the grime and dried blood, and he leaned against the wall, considering. What if Phil wasn’t into him all that much and he was just being used as aftercare? He didn’t think that was the case, and even if it was he’d probably make the bad decision and still let it happen.

 

Or maybe it was something more strange. Like maybe Kingfisher was into him, but Phil wasn’t. Which sadly wasn’t even an odd concept around SHIELD, compared to the fiesta of weirdness the agency was.

 

Whatever the case he focused on the drone of Phil’s voice, indistinct over the sound of the water, and worked himself open. HE was just shallowly rocking on three fingers when Phil’s voice stopped and the bathroom door opened.

 

“Is there room for me?”

 

He huffed and looked over his shoulder, sucking in a breath because clearly giving a report had not calmed Phil at all, still black eyes and jagged edges as he neatly removed his clothes and set them aside. “Fuck yes, in more ways than one.”

 

“I see that.” Phil stepped into the water and pressed to his back, his fingers skating down and having no shame in sliding two in alongside Clint’s own. He smirked when Clint jumped and keened. “So, being my whore would be a promotion hmm?” He licked Clint’s ear, working his fingers in and out as Clint just held himself open, body shaking at the sensation.

 

“Or on par … with a pay raise.” He gasped out. “Come on sir I know you need this as bad as I do. Just fuck me.”

 

Phil bit his shoulder then dropped to his knees, slipping his fingers out and taking Clint’s with. His hole looked clean and relaxed, slightly shiny with lube and he leaned in and licked. Clint made a breathy, high pitched noise, rocking up on the pads of his feet so he framed Clint’s hips with his hands and kept licking happily.

 

“Fucking dammit, Phil.” Clint panted, leaning his forehead on the cool tile, focusing on the teasing warm touch of his tongue, slapping the wall when it just barely dipped inside him. “I swear to god if you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to jerk off and let you figure out how to deal with yourself.”

 

“Mm, no you won’t.” It’s enough of a demand that he stands though, rubbing against Clint and licking along the shell of his ear instead. Clint responded by reaching back and steadying him, lining him up and shoving back.

 

Probably that was a little bold of him, stretched open and relaxed or not Phil was thick. Which he more than appreciated, eyes rolling back and moaning as he took him in. Phil stayed still, making a noise low in his chest that was predatory and dark. “Got your number now.” Clint teased, because yeah, needling the guy whose dick he was currently impaled on, grinding back on was clearly the best course of action.

 

“Really.” Phil’s hands moved, lacing over Clint’s and speaking into his ear as he pulled his hips back. “Seems more like I got yours.” He drove his hips forward, moved them in a dirty little circle.

 

“Fuck, yes, gimme.”

 

Phil laughed and licked Clint’s ear then bit, hips drawing back. “Slut.” It sounded warm and fond coming out of his mouth as he thrust in again.

 

“Your slut.” He gasped. “Kingfisher’s slut.”

 

“Oh is that it? Only fucking me because I’m dangerous?”

 

Clint swore vibrantly, bracing against Phil’s powerful thrusts. “Makes two of us, asshole.”

 

He snorted and bit below Clint’s ear, taking his focus off words and putting it on soothing the still-snapping adrenaline that burned under his skin. Clint responded so well, whole body jerking and keening when Phil hit his prostate, hot and welcoming and needy and alive. He closed his eyes as he moved, tried to absorb the feeling down to his bones.

 

Clint tried to move with him, fingers clutching Phil’s and only getting louder when he heard him start muffling sounds into his skin, low noises of hunger. He put everything else out of his mind but this, the hot water and hotter seeming skin, the rough scratch of chest hair against his back, all nearly overwhelmed by the thick heat rocking in and out of his body, drawing sparks behind his eyes with each stroke. He’d been with bigger but experience counted for so much more.

 

Phil knew how to move, how to arch his hips just so to rub his prostate, knew how to hold a rhythm and put just enough weight into it. He tried to move with it but he’s almost along for the ride, and his cock twitched as he wondered what Phil would look like tied down as he rode him.

 

Then Phil bit his shoulder and Clint set that train of thought aside in favor of an embarrassingly breathy keen that strangled into a gasp when his cock was grabbed. Phil’s thrusts are shorter, faster, and his firm stroking fingers paced his hips. Clint came on a ragged moan of Phil’s name, going loose and relaxed after, just barely twitching with over sensitivity as Phil kept moving and came about a dozen thrusts later.

 

Phil kissed the bruise he’d bitten into Clint’s skin then just buried his face there, breathing slowing as he calmed. “Mmn. So, you want to keep doing this.” He made it a statement, staying pressed to Clint’s back.

 

“Yeah.” Clint sagged, laughing a little. “Definitely post op, but really, anytime. You’re an excellent lay.”

 

That made him laugh, pulling back and out before spinning Clint and pushing his back to the tiled wall, kissing him hard. Clint just draped his arms over his shoulders and kissed back, lazy and satiated. “Well, I’d be a fool to say no.” He smiled, leaning their foreheads together.

 

“Awesome.”

**Author's Note:**

> True story: I thumbtapped this fic on my phone during dead time at work.
> 
> Series titles taken from EDM! Feel free to suggest song titles in the comments for inspiration.
> 
> Thoughts on an Avenger!Assassins fic series?


End file.
